by M. K. Hume
Another pile of heaped bodies was thrust against the external wall. With a pang, Arthur recognized the faces of three men with whom he had rowed, run, and shared food. If there was a Valhalla, then Arthur was certain that their souls were already winging their way to the Abode of Heroes, aided by Valkyrie, the warrior women of the air.
Eamonn and Arthur broke into a run, while both men heard the patter of Gull’s feet as he followed them, but all their haste was in vain. The last of the Crow King’s dogs were all dead now, hacked to pieces by the villagers and their wicked hoes, and Arthur was proud to see a large number of arrows that were deeply embedded in the corpses. Maeve was retrieving her arrowheads, oblivious to the more gruesome aspects of this task as she tugged or cut the barbed fletches out of dead flesh. Now that these strong men were only so much useless flesh, the arrowheads were worth more than the corpses.
“We’ll move this carrion outside the walls to places where their remains can be burned and their ashes scattered on the winds. Our own dead must be washed and cleansed, and then we’ll prepare them for the final funeral pyre.”
Arthur’s voice was filled with regret for so much loss of life, but the village had been securely held and remained unburned.
“Eamonn, you and Gull know what you have to do. Start your climb!”
The man and the boy nodded and padded away, while the headman and Freya moved forward. “You mustn’t worry about those who have died during this conflict, young master,” Freya explained with great seriousness. “Everything will be done for them as if they were our own honored kinfolk.”
“We’re in your debt, Lord Arthur,” Sigurd added. “You are truly the Last Dragon of the Britons! Now that we have seen the mettle of you and your friends, we believe you are who you say you are. We live in times when there are still wonders to be seen, and while we are simple folk, we can still recognize greatness when it appears in our midst.”
“But I had the honor of leading Stormbringer’s warriors and your own heroes—and that is all! I simply acted as I was taught to do since I was just a very young boy.”
Freya and the headman smiled and nodded, and gave their own praise to those who had taken part in the battle, including lauding Arthur as the hero of the battle of World’s End. While the skirmish was a small conflict in the larger scheme of things, it was now the stuff of legend in the annals of this small and undistinguished village.
Arthur was forced to endure the gratitude of the village until Stormbringer and his warriors eventually came running into the compound under the light of torches that were borne high to light their way. Their faces were bone-white with anxiety.
Stormbringer was told how World’s End had been secured, and how twenty-seven of Hrolf Kraki’s warriors were lying on a rocky outcrop high above the tidemark with their bodies stripped of all valuables. The shades of these warriors would enter the next world without wealth or arms, for they had failed their master and their possessions were now forfeit to the victors as spoils of war.
If the Green Dragon existed in her ossuary beneath the surge and violence of the waves, then her smile was an irritated sneer of chartreuse lips over wicked white teeth. As she entwined her scaled tail around her pyramid of skulls, she crooned to herself so that Arthur, in his dreams on that night of blood, could hear her sibilant whisper.
“You aren’t free of me yet, King of Winter, for I can wait until you come to me. I am always prepared to wait for the greatest of prizes.”
Then Arthur awoke to a new day with the weight of forty corpses on his shoulders.
Plan of the Holding
Chapter XVI
THE SEA WIFE
Fortis fortuna adiuvat.
(Fortune favors the strong.)
—PUBLIUS TERENTIUS AFER, Phormio 1
The ship scudded under its great sail, which had been patched in places where the wool was torn and unraveling with age. Yet the plain sheets still bellied gracefully in the offshore breeze. Now that night had settled over the longship, the last of the crew moved effortlessly about their duties before settling on the sun-warmed decks to sleep dreamlessly under a huge yellow moon.
They had traveled far and fast since they had relaunched Sea Wife into the slapping waves of the tiny cove that lay to the south of World’s End. Once the crew had pitted their strength against the drag of the waves with much cursing at her unresponsive bulk, Sea Wife had become a graceful and living thing that swam through the water with grace and power. Despondent and morose, Arthur had still been reliving the battle in his mind, so he welcomed the chance to leave that scene of carnage behind him.
Sea Wife was wider in the beam than Loki’s Eye, so she wallowed in the troughs of the waves, whereas Stormbringer’s longer and narrower craft would have cut through the swells with ease. This ship, so ungainly and stubborn on the shore, would never have survived the devastating and sudden storm at sea that had so nearly sunk Loki’s Eye. An earlier design, one constructed to transport goods as well as men, meant that Sea Wife would always lack grace.
For two weeks, time had seemed to unwind slowly on a huge spool after Stormbringer’s small force had set sail. No longer afraid of the sea, although still wary of her caprices, Arthur leaned against the rail and stared out at the slowly moving waves. He watched as phosphorescence edged the swells with strange and eerie lights, while the moon left a long avenue of silver from the horizon to the ship—and beyond.
In days gone by, Arthur had loved the forests, with their changing nature during the various seasons. He could see now how the great deep was loved by the Dene with the same devotion that he reserved for his oaks, elms, and other giant trees. He had spent the last few days watching the small transformations of the seas as wind, rain, and light altered the living face of the deep.
On this particular evening, Arthur was in a philosophical mood. Infinity stretched out into the vast reaches of space as the moonlight spread over the black skyline. The faint light of the stars was also argent against the thick black wool of space, like lights breaking through holes in a great invisible sail.
This could be the face of God! Arthur thought pensively. Whenever the young man tried to imagine the existence of his God, all he could see in his mind’s eye was the countenance of Bedwyr, old but not frail, and still vibrant with strength and wisdom.
Thoughts of Bedwyr led to memories of his mother’s face that swam into view and was imprinted over the soft gleam of the stars. Her loveliness was part of her bone structure rather than the flesh that had begun to sag with the inexorable passage of the years. Elayne was no saint, but in her son’s estimation she was everything that a woman and mother should be. He was afraid he would never see her face or touch her hand again.
Off to his right, a light suddenly leapt into life on a distant, almost-invisible shore. Sea Wife was sailing parallel to the coastline for safety. A new breeze began to fill the sail, and the sheets soughed gently as if a woman sighed with melancholy. But the wind brought the scents of land to Arthur: the sharp smell of pine resin, the wet and salty reek of seaweed and, somewhere below all the others, the aroma of freshly cut grass. Time slipped and he was a boy again, cutting grass for the horses with Bedwyr. The sun skidded over his foster father’s bush of curls and glinted on the small sickles they used for the cutting. The boyish Arthur was laughing because Bedwyr had shoved a daisy behind one ear and was making a comical clown’s face at his foster son. In the shadow of the mast, he hid his face from his companions and wept like a child.
Sea Wife was headed for Ostoanmark or Zealand, the largest of the islands that rose out of the wild sea between Skandia and the Cimbric Peninsula like jade beads strung across a lapis lazuli cloth. Stormbringer’s family lived at Ostoanmark on broad lush acres. Although Ostoanmark was an island, nothing was beyond Hrolf Kraki’s reach, so the Sae Dene’s family must be warned.
Arthur understood. Stormbringer and his warriors had d
emonstrated the strong family and clan links that lay at the heart of Dene society. The Sae Dene went to sea during the spring and the summer when they sailed to foreign coastlines in search of trade opportunities and, if necessary, pillage, while the women of the Dene clans remained in the countryside to supervise the farms, the slaves, and all aspects of agriculture. Stormbringer was genuinely afraid for his womenfolk and knew that he could be attacked and punished through them.
As well as protecting his family and his clan, Stormbringer was determined to raise a small force of warriors to sail to Skania. “If the Crow King isn’t prepared to honor his debt to his loyal subjects, then I’ll have to meet these commitments myself,” Stormbringer had told Arthur and his crew before they commenced their voyage into the south. Stormbringer had crudely sketched their route into the hard-packed sand with a tide-soaked stick. Although they had not yet left the sandy cove where Sea Wife had been beached for so many years, the Sae Dene captain always kept them informed of their ultimate destination. He described a number of small villages near the old Anglii borders in the south, trouble spots themselves, where he planned to raise a force of warriors and ships for the relief of the Skania Dene. His crew were eager listeners, for they understood that their captain was an honorable man who would never deliberately lead them into evil. Danger they would find, and sudden death, but their reasons for fighting would be just.
And there would always be spoils to share!
Sea Wife had already landed at one such settlement where Stormbringer had been met cautiously by the local jarl. That the aging lord was friendly was proof of how far Hrolf Kraki’s reputation had deteriorated in recent months.
“I have two ships at hand and enough warriors to man them, but you must see my problem, Valdar Bjornsen,” Ivar Hnaefssen explained as they sat at ease at a hastily prepared feast in the great hall. Ivar pushed one grizzled hound away as the animal rested his chin pensively on the tabletop.
“Down, Bear!” Ivar ordered briskly. The dog raised liquid-brown eyes in his master’s direction, before turning his attention back to a haunch of mutton that was steaming on Ivar’s wooden platter. “I can spare these men at the moment, but who knows when the Hundings will return and burn everything we possess? They’ve been very active along the borders in recent times and my halls are less than half a day’s journey on foot from the Saxon lands.”
Bear’s fixed and melancholy stare at the food stated clearly that he was a poor, malnourished creature who was utterly devoted to his master and would never steal from his table. Arthur was amused by Bear’s manipulation, because he was wise to the ways of great hounds. Bedwyr had always been surrounded by them, so Arthur was quite comfortable in their company. Eventually, Ivar took a small, meaty bone from the central platter and offered it to Bear, who took it daintily in his wicked jaws. Trotting slowly away, he began to gnaw on it in a discreet corner.
The jarl wiped his hands on his greasy robe, and Arthur tried to repress a grimace as a new layer of grime was added to the stains that covered the coarse wool. Ivar had been a good host and was obviously a decent man, Arthur reminded himself.
“Well, Valdar, I’ve thought on your proposition and I’ll be sensible. I’ll give you my two ships because no one is likely to attack me from the sea, more’s the pity! But I can only give you the equivalent of one crew. I need to protect my own back, you understand?”
Stormbringer nodded. He was a little glum, but he remained fulsome in his thanks to Ivar for the generous assistance he’d given so unselfishly.
Without doubt Ivar was a man of distinction, whereby his stained tunic and his softness for his hounds were irrelevant eccentricities in a man of dauntless courage and admirable diplomatic skills.
Now, with access to three ships and sixty men, Stormbringer pushed southwards towards the tip of Funen Island, the navigation point where Sea Wife should turn to port and follow the coastline towards the east. Then, island hopping, the ship would make her way to the eastern side of Ostoanmark, where Stormbringer’s holdings were situated. Skania lay only a short distance across the straits from Stormbringer’s home, a distance that was easily covered by the small, two-man fishing boats of poor fishermen, so Stormbringer had a strong motivation to save his beleaguered kinfolk who lived on the edge of Gothland.
Those few miles of water would easily be breached if Skania became part of the Geat kingdom and their king should cast his covetous eyes over the island of the Dene.
Much had happened to the Britons in a short period of time. Eamonn and the girls were sleeping deeply beside the rudder, covered with their cloaks to protect themselves from the bite of cold. But Arthur was finding that sleep was elusive.
Around him, members of the crew were taking their rest after a day of exertion, and only the helmsman and the sentry on the prow were sharing wakefulness with him in this velvet night.
Now was the time for reflection, for recrimination, and for guilt, so Arthur recalled recent history and blamed himself for much of the death and destruction that had taken place.
Arthur recalled how Eamonn and Gull had acquitted themselves so well in the aftermath of the battle at World’s End. Although Arthur could hardly bear to think about the men who had died as a result of his orders, he accepted that the responsibility for the death of one wounded man along the path and the two sentries at the top of the cliff was his. These deaths had been necessary to avoid greater murders. As planned, Gull had led Eamonn along a circuitous route to a path where they could secrete themselves behind the Dene picket line. There, two sleepy sentries were guarding the hobbled horses, and Eamonn killed them both without any qualms.
Meanwhile, Gull had made a reconnaissance along the main path leading down to the village. Gull’s feet made no sound on the rough tussocks of grass on the path. Nor did he dislodge stones or cause the bushes of gorse to betray his presence until he was safely ensconced behind an unkempt warrior with a wounded arm who had positioned himself as a sentry near the bottom of the incline.
Gull showed no mercy to the wounded man as he crept up behind him and slit his throat.
Later, Arthur discovered the wounded man’s remains while searching for Gull to present the boy with his newly earned knife. He was grateful that Gull had been too squeamish to look his victim directly in the eye. Arthur also noted that the warrior’s arterial blood had sprayed out in a wide red arc in front of him, but Gull was scarcely marked with the flood, except along his right hand when he hadn’t been able to remove his weapon from the man’s neck wound as quickly as he would have wished.
Arthur wished Gull and Eamonn well and thanked them for fulfilling their dreadful orders. Given the circumstances of the attack on the village, Eamonn thought that Arthur’s scruples were a little quaint for someone born to rule, while Gull kept silent for fear of giving offense.
Eamonn and Gull accepted the deaths of the Dene sentries as inevitable casualties of war. But Arthur was surprised when Eamonn told him that one of the warriors guarding the picket line was a woman, a camp follower who had obviously possessed some skills with weaponry. The young Briton had realized her sex at the last moment after seeing her long and distinctive braids from behind.
He killed her anyway!
In the long reaches of the night, Arthur considered his unmanly weaknesses and doubted his ability to lead men in battle. He understood the need to silence all the warriors sent by the Crow King to kill them, but when he was faced with the actuality of his orders, something in his nature balked at the task.
“I’m too soft,” he whispered to himself. “I have no place in this company of men if I can’t do what must be done.”
That night, the green she-dragon left his dreams in peace, but he was sure he heard her laughter just before he fell asleep.
The journey was wondrous during the northern spring. For the first time in his life, Arthur saw dolphins scudding along beside the hull of the ship. He wa
tched in awe as the sleek, grey fish danced in the waters and frolicked in the swells whenever the breeze dropped and the great sail was barely stirring.
“Oh, Arthur! They really are playing.” Maeve had one hand on his shoulder and her body close to his as she shared the rail of the vessel with him. “One of Stormbringer’s sailors told me that they’ll drive fish into the nets for the fishermen if they are familiar with the villagers. Isn’t that remarkable?”
Arthur was acutely conscious of his sister’s blossoming body, so he moved a little way away.
“I’m afraid that you and I are creatures of the land, Maeve. Blaise and Eamonn aren’t particularly impressed by the presence of the dolphins, because these giant fish are familiar to those folk who spend their lives along the coastline. Eamonn assured me that they often saw dolphins herding large shoals of fish in the seas near his home.”
As they sailed across the straits leading to Ostoanmark, several larger shapes suddenly broke the surface of the water near the ship and began to frolic in their vicinity. The great black-and-white shapes were finned and tailed, and each was the size of Sea Wife.
A cheerful warrior who was securing a long length of rope began to laugh at Arthur’s look of amazement and answered “Orca” to Arthur’s unspoken question.
“Orca!” Arthur breathed in amazement, and watched as the leviathans of the deep breached the water with slaps of their tails that sent shock waves reverberating through the Dene vessel. The huge mouths seemed to smile, while water poured off their slick hides in torrents that left their skins shining in the morning sun. One great black eye was so close to Sea Wife that Arthur could have sworn it was gazing directly at him. More important, it seemed to understand him and sympathize with his inner fears and doubts. Then the great eye seemed to wink conspiratorially at him as it descended and disappeared into the depths. Arthur thought his heart would burst with wonder.
